


Ladies and Gentlemen...

by matchesdownintotheglitter



Series: Circus! [1]
Category: FBR, Fall Out Boy, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: AU, M/M, Ryden, Slavery, circus AU, mentions of abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-23
Updated: 2014-07-24
Packaged: 2018-02-10 03:58:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2010117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/matchesdownintotheglitter/pseuds/matchesdownintotheglitter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brendon has moved up to be the new master of ceremonies at Pretty Odd after owner Pete Wentz goes into retirement.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"Ladies and gentlemen, we proudly present, a picturesque score of passing fantasy."

Brendon stood center stage, hands motioning around him as various others joined him. Glittery costumes, miles of tulle, stockings, rouge, it was everywhere. Each performer was unique in their own right, brought something new to Pretty Odd every single night. There were firebreathers, men on stilts, women spinning on silks far above the crowd, various animals set aside, makeup everywhere. It was all magical, an experience that needed to be felt to truly be seen. It was unlike anything else, incomparable. 

And now it was all his.

Pete Wentz, the original owner, had recently stepped down as master of ceremonies in order to retire with his partner, Patrick Stump. In leaving, Brendon had been put in charge, on account of him being there since he was but a boy of fifteen. He had indeed “ran away to join the circus”, leaving his mother, father, and siblings behind. The first thing was they had tried to coax him into going back, going to haul him to Vegas. But Pete knew that he wouldn’t leave without reason, that home truly felt like nowhere for him. And so he’d been put to work feeding the animals. From there he did some of the vending, some maintenance. 

It wasn’t like he couldn’t fit into an act, Pete had tried to place him but nothing had worked. He didn’t have the coordination for throwing things, didn’t trust himself around fire, considered heights a threat to his well being, and was not sticking his head in any lions mouth. But Pete had said he was charming, charismatic, and he was really good with the kids who came to the shows. So he was prop boy or stuck selling cotton candy outside among all of the smaller tents. 

At least he was until he met Ryan. 

When Brendon was seventeen, Pete had come back from town to the tents absolutely fuming. 

“How dare they!” he had shouted, pacing back and forth, the entire crew staring at him in awe. They had all seen him frustrated before, but this was something else entirely. Pete was a very personable person, overly friendly, a little enigmatic at times, but good natured. But he was snarling as he yelled about what was basically nonsense to the rest of them. 

The tirade had continued until Patrick stepped into the tent, a pale, practically androgynous boy that looked like he was still a teen, behind him. And in that moment, everyone’s eyes were on the newcomer and nobody was paying any mind to any of Patrick’s attempts to soothe their boss. He was an advisor, good with numbers which wasn’t Pete’s strong point which explained his place among their little family. But it didn’t explain why this boy in a thin white shirt and muddied jeans, his brown hair in a disarray, looked like he’d just lost a fight. There were murmurs among his peers, most looking curious or pitiful, some looking peeved. 

But despite their reaction, they were all looking at one thing that stuck out most about this boy and it wasn’t his big doe eyes. About his neck was a thick black collar, an actual lock hanging from the d-ring of it. 

Brendon knew the slave trade was alive and well out in the midwest and they were currently on the outskirts of Chicago, one of the biggest hubs for the business. The trading was a sad thing that every one of them resented. But there wasn’t much they could do for any of them except maybe take on a stray who had escaped every once in a while. But this one was different and didn’t seem suited for any labor at all and yet there was that collar. The boy looked skittish, his arms around himself, eyes darting about the room. 

“Everyone out!” Pete exclaimed with a heavy sigh, waving his hands to dismiss the lot of them, the usual crew that stayed close to his tent. Performers piled out, a stray maintenance worker here and there, and when Brendon himself turned to leave, he was surprised to hear Patrick’s voice. “You stay though, we’ve got a job for you.”

The dynamic between Pete and Patrick had been that they were parents to all of them in a way, to the younger crew. Pete was the aloof, fun dad while Patrick was a caring, nurturing, though strict, mother. They had quite a hand in raising Brendon in the two years he’d been around to where they were incredibly fond of him. But that didn’t explain why he was staying behind, not to him. 

“Yes?” he asked tentatively, trying to look anywhere but the boy who was still cowering besides Patrick. He wanted to ask why he was here, he was curious by nature, but he knew better than to say anything when the air seemed so tense. 

“Take him, for a moment.” Pete had instructed, nodding to the boy and Patrick who then quietly exited, leaving he and Brendon alone together. 

Before he could even open his mouth the speak, Pete was talking.

“He’s a pleasure slave, your age. From what Patrick got out of him, his father sold him. But that’s all he’s said. We had just gone to look at a building, big concert hall that we’re thinking of buying for the winter months, and we saw him. City is different now, Chicago is even a bigger deal than it used to be and it’s because the red light district is full of teenagers, runaways. They think it’s a big city, big dreams. They can’t make it on their own, people snatch them all up.” 

Pete had slumped into one of the many chairs strewn about the tent and rested his elbow on a card table while he rubbed at his eyes. From what everyone knew, Pete was from Chicago to begin with, this was his home. And to hear it had become some mecca of something he hated had to be jarring. 

“Your age.” 

The words came out as a distressed mumble and Brendon pulled up a chair beside him. The realization dawned on him that if Pete hadn’t taken him in, that could have happened to him. He wasn’t built for labor and his attention span wouldn’t let him sit and be a butler for anybody. He’d have been handed right over to some sleazy rich guy who already thought of him as an object long before he was bought. Resting a hand on Pete’s arm, he opened his mouth to speak only to be interrupted by Patrick bursting back into the tent, his fingers clutching tightly at the canvas. 

“You’re gonna wanna see this.” he said hurriedly, usual calm seemingly shaken as he actually reached for Pete and tugged at his arm. 

Patrick Stump had never seemed unnerved in the two years Brendon had known him, but the way his voice shook as if he were on the verge of tears made sense when all three entered the other tent. 

There, laid out on his stomach on a cot, was the boy. The sad excuse of a shirt he’d worn was off and revealed his back was a mismatch of angry raised welts, some newer than the others. Beside him sat Victoria, one of their burlesque dancers, the unannounced “team mom” among most of them, with a wet cloth in her hand dabbing lightly at a spot that was bleeding. 

Pete cursed under his breath and the boy seemed to flinch at the sound, his muscles noticeably tensing. But it was Brendon’s sharp intake of breath at the sight of marred skin that got him to look up and meet his eyes.


	2. Chapter 2

“Do you have a name?” 

They were sitting in Brendon’s tent, Pete thought the boy was more likely to open up to someone his own age but he’d been pretty wrong in his assumption. The other male had spent a good amount of time eyeing him curiously and hadn’t spoken yet, then again, he hadn’t really been addressed. He was given a clean shirt and jeans after a bath that he allowed with Victoria’s assistance. Patrick had suggested that he just didn’t like men which had made all of them a little more upset with the mental image of what the poor thing had gone through. The collar had stayed mainly because they hadn’t been able to find a lockpick or something strong enough to cut through it without injuring the boy. 

Brendon wasn’t really expecting a response so he was pleasantly surprised when a deeper voice than he had figured said “Ryan” in a blunt tone. He had said the word as if it were almost obvious and his eyes brown eyes were narrowed, posture tense as if ready to strike at any moment. 

“Did they buy you, too?” Ryan asked, eyebrows furrowed as he shifted on the extra cot they’d found, his elbows resting on his knees, his legs crossed like a pretzel. For as curious as he sounded, his gaze seemed as if he were glowering. “Or are you to fuck me for their entertainment?” 

Taken aback, Brendon had to stop himself from dropping his jaw in awe at the sheer audacity. “I-I, I’m just here to help you out.” he stammered, still shocked by the question. He knew something had to have happened to the other for him to be in his predicament and from what Pete had said, he was either a runaway or worse, he’d been sold into it all. “We don’t do that stuff here, well I mean the girls dance but they only strip down to tassels usually-”

“Save it.” Ryan spat, eyes narrowed and posture rigid and for half a second, Brendon was positive he was going to hit him. But instead, the other male just gave a heavy sigh, shook his head and lye down on the cot, his back to him. 

And that was the end of that. 

Brendon was left puzzled on his own cot, eyebrows furrowed. It wasn’t like he was hard to get along with (as far as he knew anyways), he was easy with people, it was the one thing he’d excelled at in his time with the circus. He was a pretty social being to the point where he knew he could be annoying, go off on tangents. But he hadn’t done anything to bother Ryan at all or showed any hostility. Which was almost worse than if he had because it showed how damaged the other male was. What he’d mentioned, he had to have gotten the notion from a past experience of some sort. Or maybe he’d been around in the trade long enough to see things, hear horror stories from his peers. Any option was terrifying and he couldn’t help but look at the cot opposite him with worry. 

Silently, he reached to dim the lamp kept on a crate between the cots, not quite allowing the flame to go out. Ryan hadn’t even bothered to crawl under the covers but had curled up in on himself, knees pulled to his chest. Sitting up and grabbing at the extra blankets at the foot of his own cot, got up to with one in hand. 

As he leaned over with the intention of draping the blanket over the other, Ryan shot up quickly and grabbed his wrist tightly. Once again, Brendon was left stunned, the blanket dropped from his hands and he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the smaller boy’s face. In the dim light, he could make out wide brown eyes, a clenched jaw, and his knuckles were white where he held his wrist in a vice like grip. 

“Don’t.” his voice was shaky, trembling. “Don’t touch me.”

He said it like the phrase was worn out, rehearsed it even. And it was right then and there where Brendon’s chest seemed to almost collapse in on itself and let his body relax. No one had it easy, not really, some just had it easier than others. It was no surprise that somebody who had been forced into sex trafficking had seen some things they shouldn’t, especially not at their age. Seeing Ryan’s back had been horrifying but this was worse, physical damage was one thing, it healed. But this, the emotional scars were there forever and Ryan’s ran way deeper than any seventeen year old’s should. 

“I won’t.” he wanted to say more, wanted to explain that he was safe here and no one was going to hurt him again and they were going to get that collar off and he’d be free, that he was free. But his voice had come out barely above a whisper and Ryan had dropped his wrist, left him to scurry back over to his cot where he couldn’t see anything but dark brown eyes wide open in fear behind his closed lids. 

A couple of days passed and Ryan didn’t leave the tent unless Victoria was with him, he didn’t trust any of the men according to her. If he wasn’t with her then he was curled up in a fetal position on his cot facing away from Brendon. 

Nobody knew what to do about it, Ryan had been through a lot, that much was apparent without him having to say it. And Brendon hadn’t told anybody about the first night in the tent and insisted to Pete he had no idea what to do with him. Patrick had suggested putting him to work with something simple that he actually liked doing. But that would include actually getting Ryan to talk to them, which he hadn’t yet. He didn’t seem to talk to anyone but Victoria or the other girls in the dancers tent, all of which were keeping tight lipped. As a last resort, they’d actually sent William, one of the menagerie assistants, in a dress (the man had hair to his shoulders and hips that could kill, it could have worked) to try and sit in on a conversation. However it had ended in Victoria throwing him out and their snake charmer, Gabe, never letting any of them hear the end of it. 

Brendon didn’t think it was his place to tell them what he knew, it wouldn’t help any, just make them pity the boy more. And from observation, Ryan didn’t want their pity anyways. But that still didn’t mean they weren’t sympathetic, they’d taken on slaves before, but they had been older, escapees. It was hard them them not to look at Ryan as some poor child. They wanted to do everything they could to help him, but it was hard when he didn’t seem interested in anything and kept himself so guarded. It wasn’t fair that he was getting by not doing anything either, they all pitched in but they made sure they were suited for the job they had. If Ryan was staying, he needed a place or if he were leaving, he needed to figure out where he was going. They left the midwest in a few days, they never really stayed anywhere longer than a week at a time. 

What was worse was that Brendon felt that he was somewhat responsible for their newcomer. He was in his tent for a reason, they were the same age, Pete must have thought they were going to bond. But Ryan hadn’t spoken to him after that first night other than to ask him to keep the lamp dim. He wasn’t the type to tease somebody about being afraid of the dark, but the statement had hurt a little. Just how poorly had he been treated? Part of him wanted to know and yet he didn’t know if he’d be able to stomach the story. 

So he spent his time trying to stick close to the dancer’s tent. He knew he was more welcome around there compared to William and Gabe, especially after they once raided Victoria’s underwear for reasons nobody wanted to think about. Besides, he was the jack of all trades, it wasn’t unnatural that he was waiting to get something for someone or fix something. It was a perfect cover up for snooping. 

Sometimes the tent flap was open wider than other days and Brendon could catch little glimpses of inside as he walked by. Ryan sat perched on a chair next to Victoria or Cassadee, makeup brush in hand, eyebrows furrowed in focus. Other times he was zipping up dresses, lacing corsets. Maybe he could just stay on as an assistant to them? They surely didn’t seem to mind him seeing them in states of undress as they did everyone else around. 

He brought this thought to Pete one day in what was his tent/office area as he was leaning over their schedule for their next move. Normally he had everything planned far ahead of time, but recently they were looking for an actual building to house the circus. Pretty.Odd. was a vast thing with a variety of performers and acts and the space had to be big. They’d had a meeting a couple of weeks back where Patrick had brought up the idea of getting a big, kind of secluded place, where they could have the building for main events and whatever sideshows they could fit and then still have tents outside. So far they hadn’t had a whole lot of luck in finding somewhere suitable, but Pete was hard at work on it. 

The idea would have to be discussed with Ryan, too and so they had asked Victoria to bring him in and stay with him, hoping he’d be more comfortable with her there. Upon their entrance into the tent, Brendon noticed the way the other boy’s eyes were lined precisely with kohl, making the dark brown stand out even more. He didn’t look like so tense alongside Victoria in her blue dress, her arm around him. 

“I can do makeup.” he had said in that same blunt tone at which he had used when telling Brendon his name the first night. He hadn’t offered anything else besides the statement and from where he was sitting to the left of Pete, Brendon could almost feel some of his boss’s frustration. They were all curious but didn’t want to pry, it wouldn’t be right. 

“Cassadee is the assistant to the girls. I don’t mind you helping out, but if you can find something else you’re good at, feel free to run it by me.” Pete said, trying to keep his tone light despite his obvious exasperation. 

“He could do cards.” Victoria interjected with a small shrug of her shoulders. “What’s a circus with no fortune teller, right? And he’s told me…” she trailed off, looking to Ryan in what looked like hope that he would explain. 

“I once had a mistress that was into astrology as a hobby. She was big on horoscopes, tarot cards. I don’t know if I could exactly read them, but I know what the cards mean to an extent.” they were all surprised when Ryan indeed did take up the conversation, shrugging just as Victoria had. 

Brendon wanted to know more about this “mistress”. How long had he been with her, had she been the one hurting him? He couldn’t see a woman who made enough money to own a slave and was educated enough to know astrology, go to lengths to discipline so harshly. Not to mention he felt as if Ryan wouldn’t speak of someone who had caused him harm. It was a piece to the large puzzle that was the other boy that he wanted to put together. 

“Good, I think there’s books on it even. We’ll get one at the next stop. I don’t want you out walking around here.” Pete said a little more enthusiastically, fingers digging through his pockets. “And while you’re here,” he pulled out a lockpick with a little ‘aha’ of triumph. “Figured it’s about time we get that thing off of you.”

“You’re not going to keep me?” the skepticism present in Ryan’s voice had them all taken aback. 

“After four days, you think we’re still going to keep you locked up?” Pete’s skepticism however, was far worse, as was the hurt in his voice. All traces of his previous enthusiasm was gone and he opened his mouth to speak only for Brendon to interrupt with what he had wanted to say the first night. 

“Nobody here is going to hurt you. We don’t run any sex shows unless you count the burlesque. We’re a family here, you want to stay on and be apart of it, we want you to earn your keep just like the rest of us do. No one here means anybody any harm and that might be a weird thing for you to comprehend, but you’re a free man here.” 

The sentiment had stunned Ryan enough that he hadn’t even flinched when Pete had reached forward to turn the pick in the lock nor when he gently pulled the leather away from his skin. Instead of that glower from their first night together, Ryan almost seemed to stare at Brendon in a mixture of curiosity and relief but he didn’t utter a word. 

“You’re safe here, promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thus ends Ryan Ross's introduction to Brendon's life. Gonna post quite a bit of drabble-esque type things between the two of them here and there, showing after this point. I want to branch out on what William and Gabe did with Victoria's underwear, too.

**Author's Note:**

> So I feel like I'm just gonna do a couple of drabbles for this verse cause I'm pretty into it right now. Split this up into two parts just for my piece of mind. This is also totally unbeta'd.


End file.
